That Woman at the General Store

At first I was sort of appalled: “Look at that woman getting out of her car over there,” I said to myself.  “She has to be at least my age and she is walking right into the store in her bathing suit!”

And the real kicker?  “She looks perfectly at ease.”

I almost dropped my ice cream cone.

“God, imagine having that kind of nerve!”….

And then it came to me, not a lightning bolt, maybe a pinch in the shoe: Who was the person with the problem in this little summer scene in the parking lot of a Georgetown Island general store in Maine?

It just might have been me.

Yeah, I have succumbed big time to age embarrassment. Tank tops have disappeared from my wardrobe. My preference for black clothing has gotten out of control.

And I haven’t worn a bathing suit since my first social security check arrived.

Why am I so out of sorts with my body? That's easy, my body is showing the signs of its years.

And I am pissed.

But aside from exercise, diet and prayer – is it even right to pray for a decent body?  – There isn’t much I can do about gravity.

I’m not an optimist. I do not subscribe to positive thinking. In fact positive thinking makes me cranky and irritable.

So don't tell me how great I should feel about being alive etc. I am grateful but still put out about developing an appearance that is looks more and more alarmingly like my mother in her later years.

And I am actually outraged that it is happening to me.

A few weeks ago, I noticed an article in the New Yorker about the philosopher, Martha Nussbaum. I had never heard of her, but in the picture she looked as though she was no more a spring chicken than I. Skimming the article a sentence caught my eye: it went something like “Remember how 40 years ago the book Our Bodies Ourselves inspired us to get past body hatred and accept all the ugly parts we were ashamed of? But now that we are in our sixties we are disgusted again.”  

I was late for something so I put the magazine down. I thought how wonderful. She is going to discuss the problems we women have with accepting our aging bodies.

For several days I couldn't find the magazine. It had disappeared into the ether of my apartment. As I searched, I tried to imagine what Ms. Nussbaum would say. Would she mention that in some societies it is possible to be beautiful at any age? And that the French have an appreciation for the jolie laide – the ugly beautiful?

Would she show me how to live in the moment? Maybe I would even learn how to look at the positive not the negative. I would learn to do the best with what I’ve got, as some character in a bygone Disney movie directed.

Or just learn not to give a damn.

I finally found the magazine and rushed to the article only to find that there was no discussion of aging at all. The sentence about Our Bodies Ourselves was the end of it. I reread the entire article to make sure.

I was upset. Where was the outline, the plan for me to follow? The answers I was seeking weren’t going to be given to me.

What about all those thoughts and feelings I had while looking for the article? Were they a waste?

Finally it came to me that maybe I don't need Ms. Nussbaum to think it out for me.

Obviously the lady at the General Store didn't.

Besides my mom was always beautiful.